words inspired burned through him. “You speak of what you do not know, goddess.”
The bargains he had struck to return wartime heroes weighed heavily upon him, but the decision was not made lightly, and he had not been swayed by gods or goddesses. He had peered into the future and saw what lay ahead if he did not agree. The sacrifice was the same—a soul for a soul—burdens he would carry forever. Burdens that were etched into his skin.
“Tell me how you picked sides, Hades,” she said.
“I didn’t,” he gritted out.
“Just like you didn’t offer Orpheus another option. Would it have been relinquishing your control to offer him even a glimpse of his wife, safe and happy in the Underworld?”
He had not thought of that, and he did not have long to think on it in the moment, either, because Minthe spoke.
He had forgotten the nymph was still in the room.
“How dare you speak to Lord Hades—”
“Enough!” Hades cut her off and stood. Persephone followed. “We are done here.”
“Shall I show Persephone out?” Minthe asked.
“You may call her Lady Persephone,” he snapped. “And no. We are not finished.”
He registered her shock for only a moment before turning to face Persephone. She wasn’t looking at him, but watching Minthe leave. He drew her attention, his fingers touching her chin.
“It seems you have a lot of opinions on how I manage my realm.”
“You showed him no compassion,” she said, and her voice trembled.
Compassion? Did she not remember their time in the garden? When he had showed her the truth of the Underworld? Was it not compassionate to use his magic so that his souls may live a more peaceful existence?
“Worse, you mocked the love he had for his wife.”
“I questioned his love. I did not mock it.”
“Who are you to question love?”
“A god, Persephone.”
That man’s guilt was not for nothing.
Her eyes narrowed. “All of your power, and you do nothing with it but hurt.”
Hades flinched. He could not help it; her words were like knives.
“How can you be so passionate and not believe in love?”
He laughed bitterly and said, “Because passion doesn’t need love, darling.”
He had said the wrong thing. He knew it before the words left his mouth, but he was angry and her assumptions made him want to hurt her in the only way he could—with words, and it worked. Her eyes widened, and she took a step away as if she could not stand being so close.
“You are a ruthless god!”
She vanished, and he let her go. If she had not accused him of only hurting others, he might have tried to help her understand his side of things, he might have even told her of the guilt he perceived upon Orpheus’s soul, but he could not bring himself to do it.
Let her think the worst.
CHAPTER XIII – REDEMPTION
Hades stood before the desolate plot he had gifted Persephone. There had been no changes in the soil, still dry as bone, still no signs of life.
She had not been here in four days. She had not returned to visit Hecate or Asphodel or water her garden.
She had not returned to him.
You are a ruthless god.
Her words echoed in his head, bitter and angry and…truthful. She was right.
He was ruthless.
The evidence was all around him, and he saw it now, standing in his palace garden, surrounded by beautiful flowers and lush trees. It was in the illusion of beauty he maintained, in the charities he supported, in the bargains he made. It was his attempt to erase the shame he had felt at who he once was—merciless, heartless, suspicious.
“Why are you moping?” Hecate’s voice came from behind him.
“I am not moping,” Hades said, turning to face the goddess. Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus sat obediently at her feet. She wore sleeveless robes, crimson in color, and she had wrangled her long, thick hair into a braid.
Hecate arched her brow. “It looks like you are moping.”
“I am thinking,” he said.
“About Persephone?”
Hades did not respond immediately. Finally, he said, “She thinks I am cruel.”
He explained what had transpired in the throne room, recognizing his tendency toward bargaining—this for that—not compromise. Persephone had been right—he could have offered Orpheus a glimpse of Eurydice in the Underworld. Perhaps he would have learned, then, why the mortal felt such guilt at her passing.
“She did not say you were ruthless for the reasons you think,” Hecate said.
The god met her dark-eyed gaze. “What do you mean?”
“Persephone has hope for love, just as you, Hades, and instead of confirming